


#VityaTurns40

by cuttlemefish



Series: Partner, Let Me Upgrade You [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Lightning Strikes Every Time (He) Moves, M/M, Post-Fic Fic, jealous yuuri katsuki, king of pop viktor nikiforov, pouty viktor, social media shenanigans, twitter wars, viknik releases his own naked pictures, viktuuri pop star au, yuuri katsuki plays beyonce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-11-19 03:33:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11304834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuttlemefish/pseuds/cuttlemefish
Summary: When legendary pop star Viktor Nikiforov turns 40, his beloved husband and Pop Prince Yuuri Katsuki throws him a major birthday bash in Las Vegas. Unfortunately for them both, almost black-out drunk, Yuuri turns to his 3 million Twitter followers to enlist them in an unfortunate surprise (#VityaTurns40) that leads Viktor to get even by releasing his own nudes on Twitter (#VityasBirthdaySuit). Meanwhile, somewhere back in California and Michigan, two different sets of PR specialists weep over their keyboards.Post-fic fic for Lightning Strikes Every Time (He) Moves.





	1. Chapter 1

 

I. 

This is _why_ it happens: As Husband #1, Yuuri makes it his personal mission to throw Viktor a birthday party each year to make up for all the times Viktor celebrated alone with vodka and a cupcake (and Yakov lighting the miniature candle, singing completely off-key in butchered Russian).

With 40 being a significant birthday milestone, Yuuri shuts down the Light Nightclub at the Mandalay Bay (because it's Viktor's favorite) and invites all of their industry friends to Las Vegas (because it's the nice thing to do), including J.J. and Isabella, who spend most of the night making duckfaces for a series of artistic Instagram selfies featuring pink and blue-hued strobe lights and aerialists wearing a collection of Viktor Nikiforov’s best music video ensembles – because this is Party PlannerTM Yuuri, which means he’s going to paint the walls with the words Living Legend and pictures of their poodles, even if he has to do it himself.

Far away from them, Chris Giacometti strips and dances on a pole as his manager-cum-boyfriend makes it rain hundred dollar bills on stage. Engagement #2 spends the whole time on Facebook Live, sending shout-outs to his fans (and sometimes to Viktor's fans, too). (Technically, Engagement #3 gets an invite, but doesn’t show, sending his excuses with the flyer to some astronomy conference in Norway as proof that he really cannot make it.) Meanwhile, a few steps away, Mila Babicheva and Sara Crispino finally do shots from Otabek Altin’s abs. It's a competitive affair that leads to a very awkward game of strip karaoke (even though no one knows where the karaoke machine came from). As expected, Engagement #1 leaves early, blaming the strobe lights for his headache.

The night's big winner is Leo de la Iglesia, who takes to the dancefloor and starts a dance battle with Yuri Plisetsky, which he wins after bringing out his breakdancing secret weapon: the head spin. That earns him, finally, a date with adorable industry doll Guang-Hong Ji, which, in the immortal words of the ladies from _The Take_ : “Finally!”

Of course, Phichit Chulanont documents the entire thing and tries to flirt with Seung-Gil Li, who sips straight vodka quietly by the bar until he starts crying after he sees (ex-boyfriend) Yuuri climb (current husband) Viktor like a pole (naturally, to ride him like a mustang). Everything goes to hell when, shortly after, blubbering, Seung-Gil pulls Takeshi Nishigori into a filthy French kiss, right in front of Yuuko Nishigori, Hoodoo Voodoo Queen of the Stars to the Stars, who starts shouting, “a hex on you! May your next album tank and your ass start to sag at thirty-two,” as her husband drags her away.   

Yuuri is drunk by then (as in, he won’t remember a thing the next morning). He doesn’t even try to deny it when Phichit takes the champagne bottle from his desperate, iron grip, and tells him to go give his husband a lap dance, because apparently that’s what everyone expects of Yuuri. If Yuuri’s not already draped all over Viktor and mouthing whiny demands against the arch of his neck, he’s probably rubbing his ass against Viktor, or trying to get Viktor to rub _his_ ass against Yuuri. It’s not an entirely unearned reputation, but he’s drunk enough to still be upset about it. Or, upset only until he finds his husband again. Viktor is trying to make small-talk with Engagement #2.

“I love you, Vitya,” he hiccups, wrapping his arms around Viktor’s neck to pull him away possessively. He doesn’t even bother saying hello to Engagement #2 as he starts swaying his hips, pulling Viktor back to the crowded dancefloor. “You like your party, right?”

“Of course, Yuuri,” Viktor smiles.

“This is where you put my shoe on like Prince Charming,” Yuuri slurs, practically groping Viktor’s butt as they walk joined at the hip to the middle of the dancefloor. He takes a moment to fix the paper crown on Viktor’s head, looking every bit in love as his fingers run through chin-length platinum blond hair. Viktor had Mila braid the sides to pull them by the middle into a half ponytail that gives Yuuri’s eyes more access to a set of cheekbones that could cut diamonds. “You remember, Vitya? I was younger and prettier back then and you didn't really know me.”

Viktor knows better than to not respond to the first signs of Yuuri Katsuki showing his more vulnerable side: “You were younger back then, sure, but you’ve never been more beautiful than right now in my arms, lapochka.”

Yuuri melts, pressing a kiss to his husband’s lips before pulling away. There’s a whirl of feelings in his chest, pressing tight up his throat, and he knows tonight is the night that he wants the entire world to know just how much he loves Viktor and why Viktor belongs only to Yuuri. 

“Where are you going?” Viktor asks, trying to follow.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he giggles, pushing Viktor back even as he stumbles. His words are a mixture of mumbles and slurs, mixed in with laughter and coy smiles. “I’ll be right back with a surprise. Don’t go anywhere, Vitya.”

And Viktor just watches him go, waving like a love-struck fool until something catches his attention and he rushes over to the bar to talk to Chris and his boyfriend. 

II.

This is _how_ it happens: Yuuri gets to the bathroom and forgets entirely what he was really supposed to be doing in there, even though he has the lube in his backside pocket. He tells the one couple trying to get busy in the middle stall to get out “because I need to surprise my husband!” and watches them skitter like rats running from a sinking ship. (No one would be insane enough to stand between Yuuri Katsuki and his husband.) He locks the door to the bathroom, barricading the door with a fancy arm chair, and pulls out his phone, trying to figure out how he can maximize the poor lighting.

“Hi guys!” he waves, as his iPhone flickers to Twitter Live. He sees his own face reflected and grins when he admires the way the soft eyeshadow over his eyelids add a veil of seduction to the dark want clouding his vision. “You guys, tomorrow is a really, really special day,” he barely makes sense, shuffling in place. He grips the sink in front of him to bend over and look at the phone, like there’s some big secret, other than the fact he’s incredibly drunk, “because Vitya was born! I’m so proud of my husband: He’s turning 40.”

Slowly, the comments begin rolling in, congratulating Viktor on another big year. It really has been an important year, especially after surviving #viktuurigate2k17.

“Look, look, you guys,” Yuuri clears his throat, face flushed pink from the alcohol, “I know sometimes it doesn’t seem like it because I pull some—some crazy shhh, some crazy shit, but I really do love my husband. I mean, I _really, really_ love my husband. And don’t think I haven’t noticed all the jokes about his hair, okay? Vitya’s hair is A+ (plus, plus!) and anyone who says otherwise, I’m gonna fight you. Imma find you, and Imma cut you. Pay attention to me. TMZ, I’m talking to you. Perez Hilton, I’m talking to you. No, no, keep your eyes on me, yes. You can stop with the jokes about my husband being old, okay?”

Yuuri laughs, trying to cover his mouth with his hand: “We all know he’s old. But I still love him.”

There’s hundreds of hearts floating on the screen as Yuuri hiccups and lets out something that sounds very much like a sob. Tears cling to his eyes as he whispers, getting really close to the camera, “I love him. And love is blind, guys. Love is really blind. But Viktor’s hair? Viktor’s hair is perfect. I see ya’ll speculating: Does he dye it? Is it real? Is that a wig? No, and no, and no.” He almost trips over the phone, but recovers in time to say, “guys, that hair is super shiny and strong, like you could pull it for days – he really likes it when you pull – but you could pull and, like, maybe one strand will come out? Okay, so a couple of strands fall off, but, like, his hair is like liquid silver, only it’s thick and when you tug it he makes these adorable little keening sounds, like, _ah, ah, oh,_ (Yuuri will regret that in the morning, once YouTube rolls out [1 Hour] Yuuri Katsuki Pretending to Moan Like Viktor Nikiforov,) and it’s so, so hot. Because my husband’s so hot. He’s also sweet and compassionate and takes out our dogs for walks, even though we have dog walkers. And I don’t know what I did to deserve him, because…”

The video continues to devolve from there, with Yuuri waving his index finger like he’s about to make the philharmonic orchestra cry with the strain of his love, a love that must be shared and shouted from rooftops, or at least spammed all over Twitter: “His ass is hard like brick. And don’t get me started on his dick. The first time I got to hold it, I cried. So, if I’m happy with my old husband, ya’ll should be happy for me. Be happy for me, TMZ. Be more like Buzz Feed. Don’t celebrate, Buzz Feed, I’m still watching you, and all those gifs of my dogs: Makkachin doesn’t like people getting close-ups of his tail and I’m going to need you to give Vicchan a little space. He’s sensitive about his size. Wow, this is getting really long. Moral of the story: Tomorrow is Vitya’s birthday. Yay! Make sure to wish him a happy birthday using #VityaTurns40!”

He blows a couple of kisses at the camera before he drops his phone and falls into a heap of laughter on the bathroom floor.

(Apparently, his phone had only had 3% battery life left, and the video flickers to a sudden death, just as Yuuri grabs it and crawls his way out of the bathroom back to the bar. He won’t remember any of the proceedings, but Phichit will have video evidence of Chris holding Viktor back by the arms and Phichit holding Seung-Gil in place, yelling, “You stole him from me! You, you has-been!” and Viktor retaliating, “you want me to bring the bat back, Блядь? Let’s go. Let’s go!”

And that’s how Mila lifts Yuuri from the floor and dumps him in Viktor’s arms, telling them both, “okay, go back to your rented palace in the desert now, you’re both drunk.”

“Vitya,” Yuuri will say, purring to successfully break the almost-fight, “let’s go back to the house.”)

III.

This is the _aftermath_ : Viktor wakes up to his phone buzzing nonstop with people wishing him happy birthday with the hashtag #VityaTurns40. It’s both sweet (because, wow, he’s trending, even as he approaches the second half of his life) and insulting (because, wow, don’t people know that Viktor has been turning thirty-five for the last five years and counting?). Yuuri is slowly waking up, mouthing little _I-love-you_ ’s against his skin, making a trail from his jaw down to his collarbone, and Viktor smiles, flipping through his phone until he finds it: _**YuuriK on VikNik: “I love my husband even if he’s old.”** _ And Viktor sits up so fast, Yuuri’s head hits the pillow like lead. The jolt sends him scrambling to wrap his arms around Viktor’s torso to stay glued to him like an octopus.

“What?” Viktor gasps, hitting play immediately.

There’s Yuuri, drunk in a bathroom with people knocking at the door, asking to come inside.

 

 **The Take:** Yuuri Katsuki decided the whole world should know exactly what he loves about his husband – from his brick booty to his make-me-cry dick and his _real_ hair (per the Prince Consort of Pop only a few strands come out when he tugs). Happy birthday, VikNik! Looks like you’re in for a wild morning!

 

“Oh my god, what did drunk-me do?” Yuuri whimpers, trying to hide his face on Viktor’s shoulder. Viktor is turning progressively more red as the video keeps playing, and Yuuri can’t remember a time when he’s seen his husband turn that particular shade.

Viktor drops the phone between his legs, groaning softly as he tries to burrow his face in his palms.

“Vitya?” Yuuri tries to pry his hands away. It’s rare that Viktor would be too overcome for speech and Yuuri waits for the clapback that doesn’t come. He decides it’s time to pull his master weapon: “My King?” he asks, and it works as intended. Viktor lets him pull his hands down to see Viktor, pink like a flamingo and eyes overcome with emotion. “Viktor, what’s wrong? Usually my antics don’t bother you so much.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor whimpers, “I’m embarrassed.”

“Oh my god,” Yuuri gasps, throwing his arms tighter around Viktor to kiss his warm cheek. “Vitya, I didn’t know you could still feel shame! It’s like today’s my birthday, too!”

“ _Excuse me_?” Viktor blinks, “What made you think I couldn’t feel shame? No, Yuuri, stop, no kisses. I’m upset here.”

“Shh, okay, fine, I have to call Phichit anyway,” Yuuri squeals, kicking off the sheets to grab his phone and walk naked to the bathroom. (Viktor hates himself just a little for focusing on the jiggle of his butt as he walks.) Phichit picks up almost immediately, and Viktor is easily able to hear his husband say, “Phichit? You’ll never guess what I’ve discovered: Viktor can still feel shame. No, I don’t mean it in a kinky way, or at least that’s not at all how I discovered it, though it does open so many possibilities for us now. Uh-huh. Just think about it. Yes. Let’s meet for brunch in an hour to discuss. I’m so happy, Phichit! He makes the most adorable face; he even cries a little. I feel like I just got this beautiful present: Of course I haven’t spanked him yet.”

Viktor keeps staring at the phone. The video loops back on, haunting him.

IV.

This is what happens _after_ : Viktor has always solved his problems three ways – by the pool; with drinks; on social media. Usually he wouldn’t try to use all three at the same time, but, well, desperate times call for desperate measures. He puts on his smallest speedo and studies himself for a half hour before he takes his bottle of champagne and cries on the phone to Chris about how “Yuuri doesn’t respect me at all!” and “Why does love hurt, Chris?” and “Do you think I’m old?” to which Chris, like a good friend, responds (not necessarily in order), “Of course!” and “Yuuri respects and cherishes the most important parts of you. They just so happen to be below the waistline,” and “I told you karma was a real bitch, Viktor.” Eventually, though, Chris gets tired of hearing Viktor whine and moan.

“Get over it. You’re Viktor _Fucking_ Nikiforov, the King of Pop. You’re a Living Legend. People would buy tickets and line up around the block to see you dip your delicious naked body into a tub of gold just so your posterior could be preserved for all posterity.”

Viktor gasps, sunglasses askew as he tries to hold onto the phone and the bottle of champagne. His eyes are wide and full of hope, “Chris, that’s the sweetest thing you've ever said to me. And, you’re right, you're so right.”

“Wait, I am? I mean, of course I am. Now, what exactly do you intend to do?”

“Well, it is my birthday,” Viktor grins, “and I know Yuuri already vouched for it, but maybe I should finally put to rest all those rumors about whether I dye my hair.”

“Genius, yes, I support you, whatever makes you happy,” Chris nods, toasting from the other side of the screen with a Bloody Mary. He pauses for a moment, finally registering what Viktor has told him, “Wait. Viktor. No.”

“Viktor yes!”

“Viktor, no! What are you doing? No, put your speedos back on. As your friend, I should warn you that I think you’re about to poke the insecure monster that is your husband and we will all pay for a mess we didn’t create. Don’t slap the Hulk—”

“Make sure to share my pictures, okay?” Viktor winks, ending the call to bring up the camera function.

V.

This is what happens in the _meanwhile_ : Yuuri is a good socialite spouse. Like, he puts on his best brunch outfit. Viktor is turning 40, which means many are going to question if he’s still got that seductive _je ne sais quoi_ that has catapulted him to the top of People’s Magazine’s Most Beautiful People for several consecutive issues. Yuuri is naturally doing him a favor by looking good and letting people see him looking good, just like the trophy husband he pretends to be only part-time: _No one else can have you or please you like I can_ , he thinks proudly, toasting with Phichit, _and the world should know why, that I keep coming back for a reason._ Yes, Yuuri is a good Pop Prince ConsortTM and the National Enquirer can suck it.

“Oh hey,” Phichit takes a long sip from his mimosa before pulling out his phone. “Huh. #VityasBirthdaySuit just went viral.”

“What?” Yuuri frowns, pulling out his own phone. It’s only a second before Phichit spits out his mimosa all over Yuuri, coughing up a storm as he holds his phone with shaky hands. “Oh my god.”

“Wow,” Phichit can’t stop blinking. It’s like emotionally pinching himself to double-check that he is, in fact, seeing Viktor Nikiforov on a lounge chair by his pool, pulling down his speedos to give a fuller look at his abs and the v of his hips. It’s really the tamest one. The rest are practically shots of Viktor naked inside the pool. He drapes a towel over himself, posing against a wall full of pictures of Yuuri (“Where is that?” Phichit asks, and Yuuri replies, rolling his eyes, “That’s the pool house. Every house we buy, if it has a pool that comes with a sizeable pool house, Viktor ends up calling it the Yuuri Shrine. There's one in Villa Vedici, too,”) but he has no qualms following it up with a picture showing off his butt – nothing to cover him at all, not even the small bite mark winking at the world red and deep. “Well, at least he’s not sending the world a dick pic?”

Yuuri is red. It’s not a good sign.

“He might as well be! It’s the only thing he isn’t showing!”

“Hey, at least he’s feeling good about himself,” Phichit tries to be a good friend, but he soon returns to ogling his phone. “Wow, it’s like his thigh muscles have muscles. And I thought _you_ could kill a man with your thighs.”

“Oh, I will,” Yuuri gripes, dabbing at his face with a napkin. “This one.”

 

Yuuri doesn’t waste any time in calling his husband. Phichit tries to munch on a stick of French toast quietly, still admiring the pictures. The comments are flowing like water. And then he finds it: There’s a video. He slips on his earbuds, watching as a very drunk Viktor speaks to his fans from the comfort of his master bedroom bathroom. A towel hangs low on his hips as he say, “You guys, look, I know it doesn’t always seem like it, but I love my husband. A lot. Even if he thinks I’m old. So, since I know my hubbie is such a _sharer_ , such a compassionate soul, I figured he wouldn’t mind if I showed you my favorite birthday suit.” Phichit chokes at the same tie as the towel is dropped to the floor and he gets an eyeful of Viktor’s dick.

“Oh my god, Yuuri!” Phichit tries to get his friend’s attention, but it’s too late.

“TAKE THE PICTURES DOWN, VIKTOR,” Yuuri says by way of greeting, practically filing his teeth as he speaks. “No? What do you mean no? Viktor, think very carefully about what you’re about to start, my love. I did not mean it like that! I was drunk. You’re – also drunk? Vitya? Vitya, put the phone down until I get home…”

When Yuuri hangs up the phone, Phichit hands him his phone and Yuuri drops his glass of water on the floor from the shock: “Oh my god! Yakov is going to skin us both!”

“Check, please!” Phichit calls, terrified by the sight of his friend slowly turning from red to purple.  

**TBC – Stay tuned for (potentially) the biggest social media fight of 2017/2018…**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex scene in part IX. Skip as appropriate! :) 
> 
> I'm a comment slut. If you like it, consider tipping me with a comment and I'll probably shower you with love, or an update.
> 
> Edit: Apologies, fam. I didn't notice all the italics were gone! ;n; Let's try this one more time!

 VI. 

This is how it escalates: Yuuri doesn’t bother going back to their Las Vegas home.

Before Viktor, Yuuri hadn’t known how to sneak out of his hotel; now, he’s a master of climbing walls and digging himself out of bathroom windows. So, he tells Phichit he’s going to the bathroom and instead goes back to Villa Vedici on the first available flight to Santa Barbara. The entire way from the airport, he speeds, hoping he can somehow wreck the car without wrecking himself. He ignores every single call from Viktor (“Yuuri, _Yuuri_ , pick up your phone! Where are you? Nishigori and Phichit are worried,”) and from Celestino (“Yuuri, call me immediately. Yakov and I are trying to strategize. He’s already on the way to Vegas, but we need your help keeping Viktor away from any more cameras. Call me? – Just call me, okay? We need to figure out your statement. I’m not even kidding when I tell you that Minami is in tears while he types. Call me.”) By the time he gets to the main gate, he won’t stop honking the horn of Viktor’s favorite Rolls Royce, and the security guards let him through, practically throwing themselves out of the way.

The zookeeper isn’t surprised when he asks for the rescued baby ocelot to be delivered to the house. This is exactly how Yuuri deals with stress, baby animals; drinking; and social media. He typically doesn’t turn to all three at once, but desperate times call for desperate measures, so he slips into a pair of comfortable booty shorts (the ones that read _My Milkshake_ right over the curve of his butt) and drinks straight from the bottle of champagne as he picks through Viktor’s closet for one of Viktor’s most famous slim-fit leather jackets. He slips it on and takes another long swig before he has the little ocelot delivered to him.

Yuuri sits on the ground of the master bedroom with a bottle of champagne by his hip, Makkachin beginning to nose around his side, and a baby ocelot drinking greedily from a bottle in his arms. The entire time, he cries. He’d never expected to cry over the loss of his husband’s modesty, what little had been left, but Yuuri had never been one to share Viktor, and just the idea that the entire Internet had now seen his dick was enough to make him feel cheated and angry. He films the baby ocelot’s first tour of the Katsuki-Nikiforov estate for Facebook, getting cut-off by Minami and Celestino every few seconds, until they give up when he says right on camera that if they don’t stop, he’ll just turn to Twitter, which they can’t access at all. Yuuri is sure Minami has begged Celestino to just let him monitor by now.

Yuuri paws shoeless behind the visitor as he tells his fans about the different rooms in the house: “This is our living room. Viktor really likes antiques. This is our kitchen; our cook is always on call, but he’s not in here right now because we were just in the new Vegas chateau. Anyway, this is our marble island – we’ve had sex on it twice. Tip to the wise, wasabi does burn on sensitive skin: Don’t put it on your nipples without covers or something.”

At some point, he turns the camera on himself and it shows that his eyes are red-rimmed from tears and alcohol and that he’s wearing Viktor’s jacket. He’s about to say something when there’s suddenly a message from Viktor’s Facebook page: _I’m on my way home._ The entire thread thereafter devolves into dick jokes and questions as to whether there’ll be divorce proceedings, and at that point, Yuuri decides to turn off the camera feed so no one will see him burst into tears again.

(Viktor returns to Villa Vedici around 10 pm. By then, the baby ocelot has returned to the zoo. Yuuri is in bed, hugging Makkachin as he cries, now wearing one of Viktor’s button-ups. He’s used the shirttails to tie them above his navel. The bedroom is strewn with Viktor’s clothes: It’s like Yuuri ransacked his closet to play dress-up. Makkachin is still wearing his Stammi Vicino jacket around his shoulders, listening patiently as Yuuri pretends he’s Viktor and says, “Why do you hurt me like this? I thought when we got married, you made a vow that your dick would only be my private show until death do us part. And you go and disrespect me like this? So publicly? I’m your husband, and you have killed me. You have killed me.”

“Oh Yuuri, lapochka, don’t worry. Emil has already talked to Minami. They’ve taken everything down. They’re scrubbing everything to get it all offline quickly,” he whispers, sober and sympathetic as he takes only a few long strides to sit at the end of the bed. Viktor tries to rest a hand on Yuuri’s ankle, but he’s kicked away. Makkachin whines, eyeing Viktor with a look of betrayal. _Great_ , he thinks, _now even my dog hates me_. “Yuuri, how much did you drink?”

“Vitya?” he slurs, frowning, “Just one bottle. Or no, wait, two.”

“You’re going to feel really sick in the morning. I’ll bring you some aspirin and water,” he whispers, trying to run a cool hand over Yuuri’s forehead, only to be slapped away. “Hey!”

“How could you?” Yuuri’s eyes flash with anger. Viktor stays rooted, watching as his husband tucks his legs in to sit up and glare at him, tears beginning to well-up again, “How could you do this to me? Do you know what you have done to us? You have made our marriage a joke. I am hurt. You have hurt me, Viktor.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor reminds him, “you started this whole thing.”

“So you felt like you had to end it?” Yuuri sobs, and Viktor’s still not very good with Yuuri’s tears. He hasn’t had to deal with them since their wedding day, and now he feels helpless and guilty. “I was drunk, and my intentions were good. I just wanted the world to know how much I love you; how satisfied and happy you keep me; how I am exactly where I should, with the person that should be with me. _You_ , on the other hand, were trying to get back at me, to hurt me. I can’t believe my own husband would try to hurt me with the one thing I love most in the world! You had no right to share what isn’t yours alone to decide!”

“Yuuri, you can’t be serious. My dick? – It’s an appendage attached to me…”

“Yes, your dick!” Yuuri cries even harder, rubbing at his eyes. He’s obviously tired and emotionally exhausted. “Viktor, the moment you said _I do_ was the moment your dick was not only your own, just like mine isn’t only my own anymore. We made vows. You have made a mockery of our marriage.”

“Yuuri, this is crazy,” Viktor rubs at his forehead, “I’m sorry I hurt you; I’m sorry I flashed my penis to the world. But I’m not about to apologize for jeopardizing our marriage because showing my dick for 1.5 seconds on camera is not something that should have you thinking this way. Sorry. No. Now, I’m going to get you some aspirin and water, tuck you into bed, and I’m sure when you’re sober in the morning, you’ll reconsider the implications of what you just said.”

“Fine,” Yuuri sniffles, slipping off Viktor’s shirt. “But I’m wearing the sparkly jacket to bed. I like the velvet softness of the inside. And I demand cuddles.”

Viktor sighs, “Yuuri, those are rhinestones. They’re going to hurt when I hold you.”

“Suffer! You should’ve thought of the pain of rhinestones digging into your skin while you hug your husband in bed when you decided to show the whole of Twitter your dick and stab me in the heart,” Yuuri yells, dissolving into sobs all over again. Viktor can only run a hand through his hair as he throws Yuuri the jacket on his way to the kitchen to get Yuuri some water.) 

VII.

This is what happens the next day: Yuuri goes on a hunger strike until Viktor apologizes for almost destroying their marriage. Viktor refuses and, by noon, Yuuri is too hungry to continue, so he angrily accepts Viktor feeding him a poached egg on some toast with avocado spread. He chews pensively the entire time, taking a few minutes to text Celestino. Viktor is not allowed to see what Yuuri is doing; it worries him incessantly that his husband is plotting something. But, the fastest way to encourage Yuuri is to show that his methods work. Viktor remains steadfast in the safety of his poker face.

“My world,” Viktor tries, whispering lovingly as he brings Yuuri some of his favorite tea. Regularly, Viktor personally purchases Tienchi Flower Tea for Yuuri. At almost $170 per 1,000 grams, it’s a specialty harvest tea only grown in Yunnan Province, China, and perhaps the best investment Viktor can make in securing Yuuri’s happiness. If Yuuri is suffering from insomnia, or a skin blemish, or a minor attack of anxiety, it’s easy to brew some tea. It’s like magic. “I made you a Tinechi brew to apologize.”

Yuuri takes the mug, looking down at the little green balls with a tiny, peaceful smile, “Thank you, Vitenka. Can you remind me what you’re apologizing for?”

Viktor feels relieved as he sits down and presses a kiss to Yuuri’s blotchy forehead, “for making you cry, of course. Emil told me that the video has been scrubbed. We’ve got some of the largest search engines helping, too.”

“And, what about your marriage?” Yuuri whispers, blowing over the tea.

Viktor frowns, “Yuuri.”

“You’re not going to apologize for that?” Yuuri locks eyes with him.

“I already said no. I was perfectly within my right to finally get back at you. You’re always doing things like this!”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault. _Yuuri_ is the one that’s crazy. _Yuuri_ is the one who clapbacks and shames you and that’s why you want to get a divorce, oh my god! How did I not see it before? This is all your attempt to get me to divorce you, but it’s not going to happen, Vitya. You’re mine. Forever. No one else can have you. I will cut the bitch who—”

“Yuuri, no!” Viktor huffs, trying to rub his husband’s thighs, “that’s false, like so not true. Babe, this whole thing is your anxiety talking. Lapochka, drink the tea and rest. You will feel better, and we’ll move on from this after we talk…”

“Don’t tell me it’s my anxiety. I’m not crazy, Viktor. I’m allowed to feel how I feel when my husband betrays me, without it all being in my head. I’m allowed to feel things and have those feelings validated,” Yuuri cries, setting the tea on the mantle before sliding down to hide under blankets. “Why don’t you love me as much as I love you?”

“Yuuri,” Viktor whimpers, trying to crawl onto the other side of the bed to peek under the blankets, “Yuuri, I adore you, more than anything in this world. I do. I can’t pretend I know exactly how much you love me, but I know how much I love you, and it’s so much, _so much_ , that I can’t even begin to put it into words. You’re my everything. Despite everything we go through, I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else. You’re my equal. Remember? You’re the one who told me, it’s rare to be blessed to find your equal. You’re my equal.”

Yuuri sniffs, peering out through the cocoon of blankets.

“You really love me, Vitya?”

“I adore you. I worship you,” Viktor smiles, singing, “Remember: _You are the sun, you make me shine, or more like the stars, that twinkle at night, you are the moon that glows in my heart, you’re my daytime, my nighttime, my world, you are my life._ ”

“I am your husband, Vitya. I should be your life, death and resurrection! It should be _Yuuri is My Life_ , not _You Are My Life_. Who is _You_? Answer me!”

“You are! I wrote that for you. We’ve discussed this! I thought we settled you would think of _You_ as just an awkwardly said _Yuu_ for Yuuri!”

“Then, if that’s true, and you love me,” Yuuri pouts, “apologize.”

“No,” Viktor crosses his arms, resting his back against the back of the bed.

VIII.

This is how it continues: By the time Viktor thinks they’re over #VityasBirthdaySuit, they’re entrenched in the new year and Yuuri drops a music video online with Viktor’s Engagement #1 for Yuuri’s newest song: _I’m Bringing Sexy Back_. Yuuri chooses to release it live on Facebook. Within the day, the video goes viral, and Viktor’s team has to deal with the constant harassment of reporters slamming them with questions like waves. It’s a tsunami of concern from the world: _Is Mr. Nikiforov filing for divorce? He didn’t produce this song; are there now creative differences, too? How has the recent friction in the bedroom translated to the studio?_ And Viktor is confused by that one, until Emil sends him a short clip of _The Take_ ’s most recent episode, in which Yuuri says, “I love my husband. But we’re taking things slow, trying to rebuild our trust after what happened some weeks ago. We’re discovering that there’s many ways to be intimate that don’t involve sex.” How had Viktor missed that? – He had been told to steer clear of social media, but it’s not like he had listened to Yakov, so now he had a proud Yakov and a husband who had told national television that, “Viktor and I are taking a break from sex.”

Viktor wants to die.

Yuuri’s music video is incredibly suggestive, filmed fully in black and white, with Yuuri chasing Engagement #1 around a complex set made to look like something out of a futuristic spy movie. Viktor had been supposed to play Yuuri’s love interest. He thoroughly despises every second of watching Yuuri tie Engagement #1 to a bed, only to crawl over him provocatively. The whole video makes Viktor sick, and he has to sit through the actual release party with a smile on his face. Yuuri holds tight to his hand the entire time they walk down the red carpet for the release of the first single of what everyone hopes will be a productive new album for Yuuri in the Spring.

“Do you like how I licked his abs?” Yuuri asks Viktor, whispering in his husband’s ear. The theater is dark. It easily covers Viktor’s blush, but doesn’t veil the hand making dangerous circles on his inner thigh. “Do you like that more than the part where I rolled my hips on his lap?”

Viktor keeps a careful poker face, giving Yuuri a dangerous smile, as he removes his hand and says, “Don’t test me.”

“I was just asking a question, Vitya,” Yuuri licks his lips, trying to look innocent as he studies Viktor’s face with large-doe eyes. “I want to know what’s your favorite part.”

“This is cheap, Yuuri,” Viktor whispers back through smiling teeth. He knows well cameras are carefully trained on them. “You know very well why this is hurtful. It’s plain mean.”

“Well, we did say we’d share everything,” Yuuri smiles, waving at a reporter. “Now you understand my feelings.”

Viktor pretends to laugh, dipping his head down to press a kiss against Yuuri’s jaw. It’s a trick. People are used to their constant displays of PDA, and he takes advantage to say back, “Just wait until we get home.”

“Oh?” Yuuri pretends to laugh. He locks eyes with his husband, hungry with lust. Viktor knows well that Yuuri has a voyeuristic streak, and all the cameras and eyes on them are probably getting to him. “What are you going to do, Vitya? Are you going to punish me for being a bad boy? Because I’d like that.”

Viktor bites at his earlobe, “I’m going to fuck you until your voice is raw and you can’t sing this horrible song ever again.”

Yuuri worries at his bottom lip, trying to hide his shimmy as he tells him, breathless, “Oh darling. I can’t wait.”

 IX. 

This is what follows: Viktor is ashamed, admiring his handy work. In front of him, his husband is wrecked – hair mussed, breaths coming hard, hips rolling to rub his angry, red erection against a set of soft pillows that dip, just like the happy dimples on his ass. Viktor has already laid claim to those thick cheeks with his teeth and trailed his hand – in worship – over the hard muscles that bounce – taught – against the slap of his hand. And, Viktor bites his bottom lip, trying to stay very still as he slaps at Yuuri’s ass again. He feels the way the skin rebounds against his palm, winking at him with a shade pinker than the blush coating all of Yuuri’s body, just at the same speed as his husband’s head snaps back. Yuuri’s whole body tenses, and Viktor watches as his wrist protest with the creek of the wood withstanding the suspension of the velvet rope they’ve used countless times.  He knows, at least, that Yuuri is comfortable, despite having his hands tied to the corner bedpost. Viktor made sure to prop up Yuuri’s hips with a set of comfortable pillows, giving him some leverage, while allowing his husband to rut against silk pillow covers.

By the time they’d come home, they had been desperate, peeling off clothes up the staircase and hoping there wasn’t a maid or member of their staff getting an eyeful as Viktor eventually gave up on kissing Yuuri to throw him over his shoulder and run him to their bedroom. Viktor didn’t even have time to think too much about the fact that _this_ is losing, _this_ is telling Yuuri that his methods still work. In truth, Yuuri knows how to push all of Viktor’s buttons. Viktor is only too happy to try to push some of Yuuri’s now.   

“Vitya,” Yuuri keens, rolling his ass back to meet the hard thrust of Viktor’s hips. The sound of slick skin slapping against sweat-coated skin makes for a lewd sound. It builds a rhythm that Viktor presses his chest against Yuuri’s back, reaching with one hand to rub at Yuuri’s wrists. “Vitya, Vitya,” Yuuri moans, and Viktor knows he’s exaggerating his volume.

He digs his fingers into the meet of Yuuri’s thighs, trying to hold his legs apart.

Yuuri simply looks over his shoulder, eyes lost with the haze of sex as he hooks a leg around Viktor’s lower back to show off his flexibility.

“You don’t need to hold me open,” he says, pushing his ass higher in the air. “Come on, Vitenka, fuck.”

“Not enough leverage for you?” Viktor asks him, bringing his hips to a standstill. “Want to sit? Here. Let me help you.”

Viktor pulls out to remove the pillows from beneath Yuuri, who protests, as Viktor helps him sit on his knees.

“Crawl towards the post for me,” Viktor whispers, letting a finger run up the length of Yuuri’s leaking erection. “can you sit, straddling the post? Press your body flush, just like that so your wrists won’t hurt. Good, lapochka, so good for me. Stand for me a little, just so I can sit beneath you? Perfect.” He kisses the back of Yuuri’s hair, “so good for me, Yuuri. Always so good to me.”

“Because I love you,” Yuuri whispers, breathless as he slowly dips onto Viktor’s lap. With Viktor’s help, he slowly impales himself back down on his husband’s dick. Each inch punches the breath out of his stomach again, and he keens, “why do you make me do so many crazy things, Viktor? Why can’t you behave?”

“I’ll behave, Yuuri. You don’t have to go trying to make me jealous,” Viktor bites at Yuuri’s shoulder, using his hands to help Yuuri bounce up and down. “I’m going to behave from now on. Are you gonna behave for me?”

Yuuri nods, gasping for air like he’s choking, and Viktor let’s his hand snake around his flank to wrap around his dick. He holds it for a moment, feeling the weight twitch against his palm, before he gives the appendage a couple of fast tugs.

(It’s not long before Yuuri is gone, rutting against Viktor’s hand as he bounces with the most basic desire to come. He chases for the feeling pooling at the depths of his belly, letting his forehead rest against the bedpost as he cries for Viktor, speaks to him in Japanese, in Spanish, eats Viktor’s words through his kisses, taking in morsels of Russian and Italian and French. He takes it all in, milks Viktor until he’s dry, and splatters all over the wood and the carpet of their bedroom and his stomach. He thinks he comes for hours, even though he knows it’s minutes, and when they’re done, and Viktor unsnaps the rope from around his wrists, he hums contently, breathing in the smell of Viktor’s neck.

“Again,” he smiles, licking at Viktor’s pulse.

“Give me a moment to recover, at least,” Viktor begs, but he sounds proud, rubbing a hand up and down Yuuri’s side. “Are you happy, Yuuri?”

“Yes,” Yuuri says, “only one thing could make me happier.”

“Oh?” Viktor asks.

“If you apologized,” Yuuri grins. And Viktor deadpans as he pushes Yuuri off. “Viktor!”

“Yuuri,” Viktor frowns, crawling away from him to the center of the bed. “I can’t believe you. Were you faking it?”

“No! But you asked me, so I answered,” he pouts, crossing his arms. “Why won’t you just apologize?”

“Because I already did!” Viktor responds, rolling his eyes as he reaches for his bathrobe and locks himself inside the bathroom.

“Not properly!” Yuuri yells, grabbing for the nearest pillow to throw it at the bathroom door.)

X.  

“He’s trying to make me suffer,” Viktor tells Chris on the phone while pulling out a bottle of water from the fridge. He doesn’t bother to acknowledge that his husband is eating katsudon on the kitchen island, watching him with enraged eyes. Makkachin appears to still be choosing Yuuri’s side, probably because Yuuri has taken the dog biscuits hostage. When Viktor turns around, he sees Yuuri giving him an irreverent middle finger. “It’s not working!” Viktor yells, exasperated as he takes his water into the living room.

“Is it not, though?” Chris asks him with an amused laugh. “It sounds like it is. You looked about ready to pop a vein at the charity gig last night, not to mention the palm-tree qualifying levels of shade you kept throwing at Engagement #1 yesterday. If I were you, I’d avoid Twitter today. Vanity Fair is not on your side, either.”

Viktor scoffs, running a hand through his hair, “but you understand why I need you to help me?”

“And do you understand why I can’t? Viktor, your husband is from Detroit. I have no doubt he would _cut_ me if I so much as made a suggestive music video with you. You need to find someone that _isn’t_ afraid of Yuuri, if you’re going to go for the response video,” Chris explains again, gently, like Viktor doesn’t understand. “I wouldn’t mind being tied up, generally, but it just leaves me in too precarious a position for Yuuri to come do me like a pig at a college roast. Nope. Sorry, VikNik, can’t help you this time.”

“But no one else will do it for the same reason. I’ve been trying to find someone for a week now!”

“Yeah, that’s because the industry _knows_ your husband is, uh, territorial,” Chris reminds him. “Viktor, do you really know anyone that by now hasn’t somehow been made aware of Yuuri Katsuki’s warning to the industry to stay away from your ass?”

“It’s sweet, isn’t it?” Viktor whispers, just a little longingly. When Yuuri stalks out of the kitchen, though, he starts yelling at the phone again. “He’s a terror, Chris!”

“Well, fuck you, too, Nikiforov!” Yuuri yells, “I’m taking Makkachin for a walk! And you’re not invited!”

“Fine! Take your phone in case you get lost in the estate again!"

“I will!” Yuuri replies, “It was one time!” 

“Whatever!”

“Wow,” Chris laughs, “That was an aggressive version of I-love-you.”

“I know,” Viktor whimpers, “is it sad how much it seems to turn us both on? I’m almost sure when he comes back, we’ll probably fuck again.”

“It’s not sad,” Chris says, “it’s pathetic. So, back to your predicament.”

“Right. I mean, the only person I know who doesn’t seem terrified of Yuuri is Engagement #1 and Engagement #2.”

“Well, one is gone, so…?”

“Oh my gosh,” Viktor grins, “of course, Engagement #2.”

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

 XI. 

Yuuri watches the video in his Detroit home with Chris and Phichit, each holding one of his hands. In the corner, his publicist Minami cries, loud and unashamed as he hugs Vicchan tight to his chest. His phone buzzes every couple of seconds, detailing how masterfully he’s been ignoring Celestino and Minako in favor of mourning the potential end of Viktuuri. Vicchan tries to squirm away without much success.

The music video is a piece of art.

Viktor partners with designer Ichiro Suzuki for wardrobe design, which lends a special, avantgarde quirkiness to the beautiful cinematography for _All the Way_ (or, at least, Emil swears to them that it’s one of Viktor’s best pieces of visual work to date).

The video starts in black and white with a wide view of a pristine white room and Chris gasps when he sees Viktor enter from stage left, hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and wearing an iconic fencing-inspired outfit in black. The boots and one long glove add a subtle dominatrix-feel, highlighted even more by the foil he swings dramatically between his legs as he takes a seat in front of the camera. A familiar song starts to play, and they all recognize it. It’s a throw-back to _Bossy_ as Viktor stares straight into the camera, singing, “ _Don’t disobey, answer to me. Said, if you wanna play, follow directions. We do this my way (my way). I’m just a little bossy. I like it how I like when I like it and that’s just how it is._ ”

When Viktor bites off the remaining glove on his left hand, giving the camera his seductive signature grin, a soft voice whispers, almost embarrassed, “oh my!”

It takes Chris a second to realize that’s his boyfriend, who was so surprised by the sight of Viktor Nikiforov transforming into #BossyVikNik (as Twitter will dub him for the rest of the month,) that he dropped the tea he was bringing in for an inconsolable Minami. Chris can’t even bother to feel jealousy. He also can’t hide his excitement when he says to Yuuri with a soft whistle, “you have to admit this is some of his best work.” – And they haven’t even started the real music video.

Alex, his boyfriend, makes a beeline for the sofa and squeezes himself against Chris’ side, breath hitched in anticipation as the camera zooms in to a clear image of the floor. Chris counts the pieces of clothing as they fall, tapping his fingers against Alex’s thigh.

On speakerphone, Emil agrees, practically gushing as he counts Viktor’s stats, “It’s amazing! No one expected Viktor to drop anything, so you can imagine how social media is going wild right now! Like, ViktorNikiforov-dot-com crashed an hour ago and we’re scrambling to get it back up.”

“Wow!” Alex, Chris’ boyfriend, whispers reverently. But Chris is pretty sure his boyfriend is referring to the sight of Viktor with chin-length hair, small braids on each side, singing to his reflection in the mirror to the sound of guitars and violins crashing into synth R&B (“ _Ooh, you know about the afterparty_. _If you know you’re gonna be hittin’ the club tonight, then you gotta make sure that you’re looking right._ ”)  “Oh my god, he’s so beautiful, Chris,” Alex elbows his boyfriend, sighing longingly.

“Which one?” Chris asks when suddenly Engagement #2 appears on screen, wearing a black shirt and leather suit with a fascinating blue and purple pattern created from sewn in pieces of cloth from a different fabric. He slides into Viktor’s music video mansion effortlessly, flexing his gloved hands. It’s the type of fashion that could only exist in the confines of a Viktor Nikiforov music video, or on the runway. Either way, the wardrobe necessitates the type of beauty that is both a blessing and a curse. “I don’t know that I would like that suit on the floor.”

“Both of them!” Alex says. “And agree. That only looks good hanging off a set of broad shoulders. Yummy!”

“Quiet!” Phichit says, wrapping his arms around Yuuri to pat his friend’s back. “It’s okay, Yuuri. Look, nothing bad is happening. He’s just getting dressed up to go out. This is super mild.”

“That bitch is dressing my husband!” Yuuri sobs, making Chris question if Yuuri is drunk. “Someone lend me your phone; mine’s being used.”

“Nope,” Phichit shushes him again. 

Chris can’t even disagree: Engagement #2 is dressing the hell out of Viktor. There’s a close-up of Engagement #2 on his knees, using his teeth to zip up Viktor’s pants. It’s the most seductive dress-up party Chris has ever seen and he’s sure it only lasts seconds. Alex and Chris watch – hips pressed together – as Engagement #2 pushes Viktor into a large walk-in closet, picking out a slate grey suit with impressive geometric designs printed on the fabric. The suit looks almost like an engineering project and it fits Viktor like a glove as he spins in front of the mirror to flex his wrists, showing off a pair of sterling silver buttons with the Nikiforov seal.

“And Viktor’s taking him to Club Infinity!” Yuuri cries even harder, watching as the scene changes into Viktor walking in with Engagement #2 into the fantasy club that has littered many of Viktor’s old music videos. Everything in Club Infinity is effortlessly cool and futuristic, with white walls and sleek, clean furniture that’s all simple lines and elegant materials. 

Phichit explains, “Yuuri always dreamed of filming a video with Viktor at Club Infinity.”

“What’s Club Infinity?” Alex asks Chris, confused.

Chris opens his mouth, but then purses his lips: “I’ll show you the YouTube conspiracy theory video on it later. It’s actually really well-researched and fascinating, even if completely insane.”

“Club Infinity is this incredible place that exists in multiple music videos. It provides artistic continuity to Viktor’s vision, acting almost like a repository for Viktor’s musical legend. We can think of it like a visual museum of sorts,” Yuuri tells Alex. Chris has seen Yuuri’s _fanboy_ mode activate seldom since he married Viktor, but moments like these are an excellent reminder that Yuuri Katsuki is a veritable Viktor Nikiforov encyclopedia. Viktor’s music video might have been more conservative than Yuuri’s duet with Engagement #1, but it probably hurts Yuuri even more considering how much Yuuri cares for Viktor as an artist.

Alex tips his head, saying, “Huh. Oh, this is the same location he used for _This Is What You Came For_ , isn’t it? I loved that music video so much. Even if he did lock you, well, not _you_ -you, but the fake-you, in a glass case. It was very symbolic.”

Chris nods. The camera angle zooms in on Viktor’s fake cellphone, which clearly shows that _Yuuri_ is calling him. He’s obviously not going to pick up. The Viktor on the television screen spins before throwing the phone against the wall and proceeding to lead the nightclub into the beginning of a simple line dance. The video is relatively wholesome and wholesome fun, with amazing clothes. But, then, everything changes: Viktor walks away from Engagement #2 down the iconic Hall of Cameras, making sure to wink and smile just right for each one of the cameras that captures wisps of his hair and face. He looks completely exhausted as he reaches the end of the hallway just as the music crescendos to an end and opens the door, only to enter the same room from _This is What You Came For_ , where the fake, not-Yuuri stays sleeping, laying on his back, simply floating inside a glass case dressed in crisp linen white and with a set of bejeweled headphones on his head.

“How much do you think he spent on the CGI alone?” Alex whispers, curious.

Viktor simply stops in front of the case before proceeding to look down on his sleeping not-husband, who, then, chooses to wake up.

“Oh my god!” Phichit claps, “that was so good!”

Yuuri glares at his friend.

“Phichit, whose side are you on?”

“The side of music!” Phichit confesses, unable to contain his emotions. “Yuuri, that was so beautiful. Like, he still comes back to you and he wakes you up this time!”

“Or, is it really Yuuri?” Alex taps his chin, “I mean, let’s think about this clearly: Yuuri was calling him and he smashed the phone, so his real husband is out in the world, and he’s in the club trying to forget and go through the motions of the VikNik that used to be. And at the end of it all, he goes to that room! To—to reminisce about the Yuuri that used to be, pure and innocent and protected, and he’s going there to seek comfort because he can’t go home. Oh my god. Chris, he can’t go home to his husband so he’s going into his mental museum or whatever to pull out happy memories because he knows, he _knows_ that the lifestyle he used to lead isn’t enough without Yuuri. It’s not enough!”

“So,” Minami hiccups, finally releasing Vicchan, who goes running for Yuuri, “the fake Yuuri is symbolic that he feels like all he’ll have left are memories of Yuuri?”

“Because he needs Yuuri,” Chris begins to tear up. “Oh my god. I need to call Viktor. He actually did something adult and put his feelings on the line instead of trying to get even. I’m so shocked right now.”

Phichit gasps, pressing both hands over his mouth, “That’s even more beautiful! I have to tweet about this; you guys, Viktor’s growing up!”

“Wow,” Alex shakes his head, amazed. He rests his head on Chris’ shoulder, sighing. “And that’s why that motherfucker is still the King of Pop.”

Yuuri sniffs, hugging his dog, “Phichit, my husband’s hurting?”

“He is, Yuuri,” Phichit pats his shoulder, whispering melodramatically (because it’s the only language Viktor and Yuuri seem able to speak fluently,) “You should go to him.”

XII.

“You told him what?” Viktor paces his master bedroom, keeping the phone pressed tight against his ear as Chris gives him a play by play of exactly what happened during the impromptu video viewing. Viktor sits down on the corner of the bed, reaching over to pet Makkachin’s head. “That the fake Yuuri was symbolic of my fears that all I would have left are memories of him?”

“It was very touching, Viktor,” Chris tells him, sounding proud. “I really thought you were going to go all out with Engagement #2, but then you kept things quite PG for you. What changed your mind?”

Viktor sighs, rubbing at his temples, “When they brought out the old set for the last scene? We were going to film that first. I sat next to this plastic case, just running my fingers over it in this green room, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about my wedding day.”

“Your wedding day,” Chris repeats, remembering the day well. He sits silent, listening.

“Seeing him on the floor of that bathroom, just crying: _‘You don’t love me. You’re still lying to me. You never cared about me.’_ The look on his face that day, Chris,” Viktor rubs his face, feeling tired. He’s been feeling tired for a long time, “All of this is my fault. I can’t stop thinking about that day, when I could just see and feel him crumbling in my arms, unable to do anything to get inside his head and make him understand—”

“You’re still feeling guilty,” Chris whispers, and there’s a question bubbling under the rumble of his voice, like he’s trying to give Viktor a hint of his shock. For years, Viktor has tried to put into words his reasons for holding back, always resting a step away from the cliff of their relationship – just close enough that he could pull Yuuri from the edge after running full force to chase him. “I guess I didn’t realize.”

“When I first met Yuuri, he was so eager to give his heart, Chris. Like, he was just shoving it my way, not even a second thought given to whether he should trust me with it. He just wanted me to have it.”

Viktor’s had years to think about this: There are two Yuuri’s that exist in Viktor’s world, coming into focus in gradients of time that fall on either side of the present. There’s a version of Yuuri that _is_ a before and an after, and the only different between them is Viktor, like some angry, deep-rooted line weathered from years of hurt. It’s the type of truth that tastes bitter, even as it sweetens his world. Viktor couldn’t imagine his life without Yuuri now, with as much clarity as he can imagine Yuuri living and thriving beyond him, without him. Had Yuuri never given him a second chance, Yuuri probably would’ve managed to heal by burying Viktor underneath layers of scabs grown from disappointment and disenchantment. In his place, Viktor is sure Yuuri’s resilience would’ve been enough to water a garden.

Yuuri has a way of breathing life into the dead. It’s part of what Viktor loves.

“I hurt him, Chris. And I changed him. I have never taken responsibility for that.”

“We all change, Viktor.”

“I was about to film that music video when it hit me I had no right to try to get even, Chris. I won’t ever be able to get even. I started in the hole from the beginning of this relationship. Before Yuuri, I was a dead man, buried and walking with dirt stuck to me from years and years of all the shit I’ve been through and that, I’m sure, I’ve put other people through under the pretense that _I_ was hurting. So, this? This is my fault. And I didn’t once stop to realize that my husband was probably letting me know he’s still hurt. Because I did that, I hurt him.”

“I think you’re putting too much blame on yourself, Viktor. Yuuri has his quirks, too. I seem to remember, uh, things a little differently.”

“The Yuuri I knew was never like that and he forgave me because Yuuri is a good person, Chris. But I don’t think I ever stopped to think if he’d healed from all of it. I was just so busy, so desperate to have him back, I figured, well, I’ll have to work slow, get back into his good graces…”

“And you did, you’re married,” Chris tells him, trying to be encouraging.

“Chris, you’re not, you’re not listening to me: I think we both need help.”

“Like Oprah?”

“No. Stop laughing. I’m serious. Like, professional help.”

XIII.

Yuuri moves back in without telling Viktor. And it takes Viktor a couple of hours to realize that Yuuri is _actually_ planning to pretend that everything is fine, just fine.

The entire thing feels unnatural, but Viktor watches the poodles reunite – tails wagging so hard, they slap at Viktor’s legs as he tries to peek closer – and tries to pretend that this is _normal_ and Yuuri just returned from touring. If anything, Viktor feels an immense sense of relief as every space previously so vocally vacant slowly get filled with Yuuri again, from his dirty clothes in the laundry room to the smell of katsudon in the kitchen (and the sound of Yuuri’s laughter as he tells their chef that he has been “craving getting back into the kitchen.”)

“Why is this place so dark?” Yuuri whispers to the maids, drawing back thick curtains and asking for fresh flowers for the dining room vase. He fluffs up a giant bouquet, looking immensely pleased when Daria hands him a couple of sunflowers. The entire time, Viktor stands back, following like a shadow slinking around the dark corners left behind. He tries to stay away, though, unsure if he’s even allowed to enjoy the way Yuuri’s energy wafts like a perfume all his own. Viktor wants to drown in it.

When the table is set with two placemats and steaming katsudon bowls for lunch, Yuuri turns to Viktor. His smile rivals the sun, and Viktor feels like he’s finally thawing. When Yuuri grabs his hand to pull him toward the table, he feels a little less cold, a little less empty, but no more real. Viktor sits in a haze, staring hard at the plate, even as his husband doesn’t stop holding onto his hand and rubbing his knuckles in circles. He eventually registers Yuuri is drawing infinity symbols over his skin, making sure to press extra hard against his wedding band.

They’re quiet for a long while. Viktor watches as Yuuri stares at his food. He feels like he’s stuck in a black and white film roll not yet dipped into color. When Yuuri clears his throat, Viktor feels his entire world tilt and his blood rush to his ears. Everything Yuuri says comes off soft and low, like it’s tucked under ocean waves.

“You know,” Yuuri chirps, “I was talking to Phichit about Barbados. Have you ever been? I’ve never gone—”

“I’m sorry,” Viktor whispers, trying to pull his hand away.

“What’s wrong?” Yuuri asks. There’s a familiar glint of desperation in the corner of his eye. He reaches for his glass, sipping large gulps of water.

“I can’t do this,” Viktor says. “I’m sorry. Finish eating. I’m just going to take a moment, okay?”

“Viktor,” Yuuri holds tight to his hand again, trying to pull him back down. His voice edges on desperation when he tries to stand to follow him, “Viktor?”

Viktor shakes his head, tears already starting to cling to his eyes as he pushes his husband down gently. He bends over to press a kiss against soft, dark hair before he walks away. Makkachin wastes no time in taking over his seat, dipping down to lap at the bowl of food.

XIV.

The thing about saying _we need help_ out loud once is that Viktor can’t stop replaying those words in his head over and over.

He stares at the ceiling and maps the age rings on the wood, tapping his fingers against his stomach as he counts. Viktor isn’t sure how long he stays in the bedroom, but eventually he paws his way back out to the dining room. Things should have gone better: Instead of running, he should’ve talked to Yuuri, but the concept of communication, as basic as it is, still feels like a struggle for Viktor. _Hence, why we need help_ , he thinks to himself.

Once he gets back to the living room, he finds Vicchan and Makkachin licking at the floor while one of the maids tries to mop the floor. He sees another one is still picking up pieces of glass shard from the floor. The sunflowers rest on the table. It doesn’t take Viktor long to realize that his husband made a mess of their dining room.

“Where’s my husband?” Viktor asks, even as he senses that something is off when Nishigori peeks into the dining room.  

“Security is looking for him now, Sir.”

Of course. Leave it to Yuuri to figure out how to make Viktor have a panic attack, even after coming home. _Especially after coming home_ , he curses mentally. Then, he groans, loud and angry, “Fuck!” – and the maids and Yuuri’s bodyguard and friend all take a step back. Even the dogs whine. “Where have you looked?”

“Everywhere?” Nishigori offers. “We think he might have left the compound, but all cars are accounted for.”

“Have you looked inside the pool shack?”

“The pool house? Of course, Sir.”

“No, the shack, with all the supplies and cleaning stuff.”

“Why would he be in a supply closet?” Nishigori whispers, and Viktor doesn’t even stop to explain before he’s running for the kitchen door.

(Of course, he finds Yuuri in the pool’s supply shack. The level of irony makes his head spin: This is like being back on their first night as a married couple, only now Yuuri’s the one on the mattress on the floor instead of Viktor, who doesn’t bother to announce his presence. Yuuri simply rolls onto his other side, giving him his back.

“You know,” Viktor tries to make a joke, slowly easing onto the ground to crawl on the edge of the mattress. Even after they’d been married, Yuuri had been so fragile after an afternoon filled with emotions, that Viktor had offered to sleep in the pool house. He’d failed to realize the “pool house” was the supply closet, having turned the actual pool house into a Yuuri shrine. He’d never pieced together until the morning after that he had an _actual_ five-bedroom house in his compound a block’s worth of steps away from the pool for a reason. “This isn’t the pool house.”

And yet, they’d never managed to convince themselves to move the cot. Not with the memories they’d made that night.

Yuuri inches farther away, sniffling loudly.

“I figured it’d be fitting to reflect on the end of our marriage in the same place where it started,” Yuuri whimpers, shoulders curved in. “And I thought, maybe here you wouldn’t ask me for a divorce, not with the significance it has for both of us.”

Viktor frowns, “A divorce? Is that what you want?”

Yuuri sits up, face red as he yells, “No! That’s what _you_ want! And I can’t even blame you. I’m a mess, Viktor. I’m—”

Viktor lunges forward, wrapping Yuuri into his arms. He feels his husband struggle only marginally. He whispers slowly, “Yuuri, I don’t want to get a divorce.”

“You don’t?” he asks, voice strained as he pushes away to lock eyes with Viktor.

Viktor shakes his head, cupping Yuuri’s face with both hands when he notices his husband has stopped struggling: “No. I’ve just realized some things.”

“What kind of things?” Yuuri asks.

“You think we can talk?” Viktor arches an eyebrow, resting their foreheads together.

“Depends on what you’re going to say,” Yuuri licks his lips, reaching over to brush their lips together.

Viktor pulls Yuuri away gently, “No. Yuuri. _Talk_. Really talk.”

Yuuri pouts, but nods, “Fine. But if this isn’t about a divorce, this better be about a baby, Viktor. You scared me.”

“Hm. Maybe not about a baby,” Viktor kisses his husband’s cheek, “but it’s also very important, and something we need to do before we even consider becoming parents. You want to go back to the house?”

Yuuri shakes his head, reaching for the blanket to drape it over both their knees. And, for the first time, Viktor doesn’t even know how to begin.)

XV.

“Viktor, Yuuri,” Dr. Crispino’s stern face stares back at them through the computer screen. It’s almost midnight, and Mickey is in his home office wearing pajamas. Viktor can only imagine he’s a minute away from telling them both to find a new personal physician. Not that Mickey hasn’t been an absolute professional, including the time Viktor pulled a thigh muscle after having sex with Yuuri in the pool.  

Viktor thinks that Yuuri needs only inch a centimeter closer before their ribs begin to merge together, and he wants so badly to take his husband and tuck him inside his ribcage and hide him next to his heart.

“What can I do for you?” Dr. Crispino asks, trying not to yawn as he reaches for his coffee mug.

“Viktor wants to start attending sessions with me,” Yuuri whispers, looking down at his hands. Viktor nudges his husband gently. “But we’re thinking maybe he should get a therapist of his own first, before we jump full into couple’s therapy. Do you think you could help us?”

**The End.**

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [you never forget the rise of a pheonix](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11860245) by [aspidocheloner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspidocheloner/pseuds/aspidocheloner)




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